


The One Percent

by Kottyss



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Dystopia, Gen, Idk what to tag this as, Oneshot, Organized Crime, Prompt Fill, Revolution, and also archive some of my prompt fills, but like, i guess?, i might continue this if im bored, im not really expecting to find an audience, im really just posting this so i can practive posting on ao3, maybe? - Freeform, not upper class, okay lets figure out how to tag on ao3!, one percent, writing prompt timeeee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kottyss/pseuds/Kottyss
Summary: Prompt Fill: People thought society would be better if we killed the worst 1% every year. Today is the hundredth anniversary, and the notion of the “worst” is getting really tricky.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The One Percent

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a prompt fill I did to get myself back into writing a while back. I'm pretty proud of it even if it seems a bit basic so far. I MIGHT come back and continue this later on? It wasn't meant to be any longer than this but I'm playing around with some ideas atm for more plot development so we'll see how it goes.

The policy had seemed logical to begin with.

Well, no, that was probably a lie. The textbooks had made it _seem_ like a logical idea to begin with, but as Rhode was starting to suspect, it was a plan that hadn’t been very well thought out from the start.

Rhode had no idea how the governments had ever managed to get the public to accept the New Amendments, all those years ago. Sure, over-population had been at an all-time high, and crime rates were seeing a steady increase internationally, but culling one percent of the population every single year? Surely, they had to have known that it would go wrong sooner than later.

The first few years were certainly the most extreme. Rhode suspected that many people simply hadn’t realized just how much one percent would be. It sounded tiny at first, insignificant in comparison to the global population, but the reality was that one percent of a number as large as 7.7 billion was still a whopping 77 million.

Even with every nation supplying their very worst criminals - the pedophiles, rapists, and the murderers - many countries found themselves already stretching the boundaries to hit the one percent line. And because most of the worst ones were gone by the first year, the boundaries of the second year had to be stretched even further. Sure, new “One Percenters” popped up every year; killers and the like cropped up annually, but never even remotely enough to fill the quota. So the boundaries were widened. 

By the twelfth year many nations were reaching for petty thieves and vandals for the Cullings. Rhode recalls reading in history class about one particular case, during maybe the fifteenth or sixteenth year, where several riots broke out on the day of the Cullings because most of the One Percenters were less than twenty years old. They were all from small communities, ravaged by poverty and want, and many had simply been charged with minor drug possession or simple misconduct.

The first minor to be Culled was Josaih Grant in 2039, twenty-two years after the New Amendments had been instated. He had been convicted of drug possession - half a blunt sitting in his coat pocket.

But the worst thing about the New Amendments was probably the fact that they worked. Now, one hundred years after their instatement, global crime rates were at an all-time low. _Then again,_ Rhode thought, _so was everything else_. People were too scared to commit crimes, sure. But that also meant that governments were left with far too few criminals to meet the one percent lines. 

The solution, apparently, was to move from legal crimes onto moral ones. Verbal disputes, expressing offensive opinions, eventually even “callousness towards others” was enough to earn you a rank as a One Percenter. Public surveillance methods were funded to allow increased observation, and police were constantly on the streets, waiting for someone to so much as jaywalk, or drop a cigarette butt just short of a garbage can. People were turning in their neighbours and friends over disagreements or falling-outs; sometimes out of spite, other times out of fear of being reported themselves. 

People had tried to resist, of course. But by the time they had, it was far too late. Rioters immediately bought themselves seats to the next Culling, and soon after even peaceful protesters were being convicted of public disturbances.

At twenty-two years old, life under the New Amendments was all Rhode knew. She had been born shortly after “moral criminals” had begun to make the Cullings, and grew up in a world where people were often too scared to even interact with others, for fear of falling out with them and being Culled. No one went outside; most people even worked from home in order to avoid being in the streets. The last thing anyone needed was to make themselves a target for an over-enthusiastic police officer just waiting for something to do.

When Rhode was thirteen, her mother had been turned in by their neighbour two doors down for cursing in the house’s driveway, and was Culled that same year. Her father hadn’t been the same since, and was now too afraid to even leave the house to do groceries. They had to have everything delivered to the house, and he had Rhode take online classes through all of high school and university to keep her at home as well. 

It was alright, she supposed. She hadn’t really known anything else, but the vibrant pictures she saw in her history books of festivals and parties and natural vistas across the world always sparked some wistful corner of her soul, and she ached for a world she never would never get to know. 

As such, Rhode had always found herself to be a bit more adventurous than her father would have liked her to be. She never did anything extreme, of course. Just simple things, like going for a walk through the park or visiting the public library. Everywhere she went was always so quiet, and Rhode was careful to be as respectful as possible if she ever came into contact with another person. _Don’t brush up against them, walk a respectable distance behind, speak as little as possible and only when spoken to,_ the rules her father had drilled into her felt like shackles, but she knew they could keep her alive if it came to it. Especially with winter approaching again and the Cullings drawing near, when people began to worry once again if they had been good enough to keep off the list.

As Rhode stepped out onto her front porch and into the brisk fall air that afternoon, her thoughts swirled around her head in a way that mimicked the leaves in the empty streets. 

Her neighbourhood was as silent and barren as always, and Rhode made her way down the front path to the sidewalk. She turned left and away from the house, in the direction of the forest trail; exactly where she’d told her father she was headed.

Unlike usual, however, as soon as she was out of sight of her home, Rhode turned right up a side street and started making her way to the other side of their small community.

She walked, scarf pulled up against the wind as townhouses and apartments gave way to local businesses and restaurants, most of which had long-since been shut down. Whether that was due to a lack of business or the owner being Culled was anyone’s guess. 

Seeing the cracked glasses of storefronts and “Out of Business” signs plastered across nearly every door did nothing to calm Rhode’s nerves, but it did help to steel her resolve.

She kept her head down as she continued down the main strip of what used to be the heart of their little town. It took everything in her not to glance around for any police as she neared the coffeeshop at the end of the street. It was a quaint little place with a simple sign, proudly naming the store “PEACE”. It was also the only store left in the area that hadn’t gone out of business yet. 

She slowed to a stop in front of the entrance of the shop, peered in at the lights and quaint decor inside, at the counter covered in pastries and sandwiches, and took a deep breath. Gathering all her courage and attempting to soothe her frayed nerves, she pressed a thin hand against the glass door and pushed, a little _ding_ chiming as she made her way inside and to the counter. For all its outward appeal, the shop was still as quiet as everywhere else in Rhode’s hometown. No cup of coffee was worth chancing being made a One Percenter by accident.

“Hi there,” the sweet-looking girl behind the counter smiled at her. She seemed unassuming enough, but a hint of wariness sat just behind her eyes all the same. 

“Hi,” Rhode flashed the most polite smile she could muster. She sent a silent prayer to any god out there that Dallas hadn’t told her wrong, that this wasn’t a trap. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” The conversation was painfully devoid of any personality, and it was obvious to Rhode that this girl was just as aware of her every word as Rhode had been raised to be. “We have a wonderful selection of coffees or teas, if you’d like.”

Here it was, the moment of truth. “Actually,” Rhode began, trying to recall the exact wording of the phrase she needed to recite next. “I was hoping you had something a bit sweeter than that? I’m really craving a more summer-y kind of drink, you know?”

There was a brief moment where the barista’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and Rhode clenched her fists in her jacket pockets as she waited for a response; for the girl to reach for the phone to call the police, to scream at her that she was next to be Culled. But then, miracle of all miracles, the girl smiled at her. A real, genuine smile this time, and Rhode was taken back for a moment at the difference in the girl’s demeanour. 

“Of course,” she replied. She tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear as she stepped forward, gesturing for Rhode to follow her behind the counter. “We’ve got plenty of mixes for summer drinks in our storage room, but you’ll have to come pick the flavour out from there, unfortunately. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure,” Rhode wasn’t sure if she wanted to lock up with fear or fall over in relief. She hadn’t let herself think about what would happen if she actually managed to get this far. She had a million escape routes planned, multiple bags of clothes stashed around town for a quick getaway, but she had never once let herself consider what she’d do if things actually went right. Forcing herself from her frozen state, she quickly followed the barista past the counter and through the door behind it labelled “Employees Only”. 

Past several shelves stocked with old boxes and various ingredients, the barista, who Rhode now realized didn’t have any nametag, led her down a set of stairs into what Rhode presumed would usually be the break room. Instead of a table and a few folding chairs, however, Rhode was met with a room filled with computers and screens of varying shape and size, as well as about seven other people, mostly around Rhode’s age, talking amongst one another. 

And it was _real_ talking, too. There wasn’t any of the ingenuine, forced tones of conversations held on eggshells, or wary, porcelain expressions of people too afraid to offend one another. These were real people having real conversations, and for a second Rhode didn’t know what to do with the sight in front of her. 

“Hey everybody, listen up!” Rhode nearly jumped out of her skin at the loud voice, and turned in shock to see the sweet, polite barista now addressing the whole room so loudly and carelessly. 

The rest of the group, surprisingly, simply lifted their heads from whatever conversation or screen they were engaged with and looked to the barista expectantly. There were no pressed lips or narrowed eyes that usually came with such breaches of public etiquette, just curiousity in people’s faces as one by one they spotted Rhode just inside the doorway. 

“We’ve got a newbie!” The barista declared brightly, slapping a hand on Rhode’s shoulder with enough force to make her flinch in shock. “This is...sorry, what was your name?” She turned sheepishly to Rhode, though the smile never left her face. 

“Come on, Megs, you mean you haven’t even asked her yet?” A voice called out teasingly from across the room, and Rhode turned to see a boy with dark skin and a bright smile shake his head at the barista. “For shame, man. Learn some manners.” 

“I was getting to it!” The girl - Megs, Rhode guessed - tried to defend herself, but judging by the snickers from around the room she got in response, she wasn’t very successful.

“Sure you were,” A tall, lanky looking kid who couldn’t have been older than seventeen called back from the far end of the room, and Rhode was shocked to see him sitting with his feet up on one of the tables. On the table! Her head felt like it was nearly ready to explode from how casual everyone was being with each other. It was… so unlike anything she’d seen before. Everyone looked so comfortable with one another. 

“I bet you forgot to introduce yourself on the way down here, too,” The lanky boy smirked.

“Shut up! I was getting to that, too.” This time, several people laughed at the girl outright. 

“Well, if you’re not going to introduce yourself, I will.” Yet another voice interjected. This time, it was an older woman who spoke, rising from her chair and making her way over to where Rhode and Megs were standing. She was maybe in her late fifties, short-cropped hair half grey with age, but she wore a warm smile on her face. Extending a hand to Rhode, she introduced herself. 

“The name’s Taj, it’s a pleasure to meet you, darling.” Her voice was gravelly, but soothing. She jerked a thumb to the girl standing next to her. “This one’s Megs, though I’m sure you already gathered as much.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Taj,” Rhode replied automatically, and the practiced politeness in her voice felt so out of place in a room filled with such a casual atmosphere. “My name is Rhode.”

Taj chuckled. “Oh yeah, you're new alright.” 

Rhode felt her face heat up as she heard a couple more snickers from around the room. She didn’t know how to act around these people. Everything that felt normal to her seemed to be flipped on its head here. 

Taj must have noticed something in her expression, because she gave her another kind smile as she spoke, “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’ll learn how things work around this place soon enough.

“I’m the one who runs this little operation, here,” she continued, gesturing to the screen-filled room proudly. “There’s about fifteen of us total, but usually there’s only six or seven of us here at a time. We’ve been doing some recruitment where we can, but it’s slow goings, what with all the surveillance protocols.” She glanced back at Rhode over her shoulder. “Speaking of which, how’d you find us, anyway?”

All the eyes on her were starting to take a toll, and Rhode shifted awkwardly on the spot. “I, um, was talking to someone in one of my online university classes.” She hated how her sentence came out sounding more like a question. “We were chatting and they eventually mentioned this place, told me I should stop by.” 

“Yoo! I think that was me!” The boy with the bright smile exclaimed loudly, pumping two fists into the air.

Megs winced. “Jeez, shout a bit louder, will you? It’s not like we’re hiding from the cops or anything.”

“Wait, you’re Dallas?” Rhode couldn’t help herself from asking.

“Well, technically, my name’s Kaden,” he looked over to her, having the decency to at least look a bit sheepish. “Dallas is the name I use online. Makes it harder to trace back to me if anything happens.”

Huh. Rhode hadn’t thought of that. It made sense - everything about this place was illegal - but it was still a shock to her that someone would go online and lie like that. It was so easy to be caught nowadays, and faking your identity was more than enough to get you Culled. It was a strong reminder about just what Rhode was doing there, and she felt herself still a bit at the thought.

“You sure you want to get yourself involved in this, kiddo?” Taj seemed to notice her shift in demeanour yet again. Rhode couldn’t figure out how a woman she had just met could read her so easily. “I’m sure you know already, but what we’re doing here could get all of us Culled if we’re caught. This ain’t a hobby shop.”

“No,” Rhode replied. She squared her shoulders, drawing a breath and doing her best to look Taj directly in the eyes. “I came here for a reason. I knew what I was doing when I showed up to this place. This is something I want to do.” 

She held Taj’s gaze determinedly. This was all foreign to her, but she knew exactly what was at stake by involving herself with these people. Images of her mother flashed before her eyes, kneeling on a stage with a gun to her head. Her father, slouched in a recliner with a bottle in his hand and tears in his eyes.

“And what exactly is it that you came here to do, Rhode?” Taj’s tone was even, and Rhode delivered her response with all the conviction she’d been building in her heart for the last twenty-two years.

“I came here to put an end to the Cullings.” 

Taj grinned at her. “Fantastic. Let’s get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> That's all I've got for now! If on the off chance anyone happens to find this, let me know how you think I can improve, or what you liked! I'm also on tumblr @pride-of-persephone


End file.
